


Tangent

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ficlet, M/M, Starfleet Academy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: For Bashir, Garak makes an interesting but distracting roommate at the Academy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “biting/sucking” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/149673766130/fic-bingo).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He’s midway through his essay when the door slides open. Garak wanders in like it’s right after class instead of the middle of the night, his eyes lighting the same way they always do when he sees Julian. He nods his head and offers a sly grin that doesn’t fool Julian for a heartbeat. The illustrious first-and-only-Cardassian cadet in Starfleet Academy is no less enigmatic in person. The red uniform specifically tailored to his measurements fits him like a glove, highlights his broad shoulders and sloping ridges, hugs his trim hips, even compliments the greyish hue of his skin. But he still doesn’t look quite _right_ in it, and Julian’s a little surprised when the first thing Garak does isn’t change.

He walks straight over to his roommate instead, hiking up onto Julian’s bed without any heed to invitations. Julian lets out a little sigh because he can guess what’s coming. He resists it anyway, keeping his eyes on his PADD and most of his mind on his paper. He has the rare advantage of being able to split his concentration, but Garak’s often intriguing enough to test those limits. Tonight, Garak sidles up to Julian’s back and wraps around him. Julian can feel the hard lines of Garak’s thighs parting around his rear, Garak’s taut stomach molding to his spine, Garak’s strong arms slithering around his middle. Garak’s indented chin pokes over his shoulder and purrs into his ear, “You aren’t _still_ on that essay, are you?” 

He’d just started when Garak left. Anyone else would take days. Julian plans to be finished before bed, but he still plays along and admits, “I’m only human.”

“More’s the pity.” Garak punctuates his statement with an affectionate bite to the shell of Julian’s left ear. When Garak gets his homework done, Julian has no idea. But then, why Garak’s even _here_ , Julian has no idea. He doesn’t flatter himself enough to think it’s just for _him_.

Mainly just to stall and get a few more sentences down, Julian asks, “Where were you tonight?” It doesn’t matter. Garak won’t tell him the truth.

Garak answers silkily, “Why, the weekly underground meeting with my fellow Cardassian spies, of course. I had quite the report on sophomore medical classes to deliver, along with a number of unexpected fashion revivals. At this rate, we expect the Federation to be conquered by the end of the month.”

Julian dryly says, “Hah hah,” and doesn’t buy the attempt to throw him off the trail for a second. He’s quite convinced some of what Garak’s doing here is tied to spying, and he’s made little secret of that.

Garak’s made little secret of how much he enjoys the relative softness of human bodies. Or at least, he says it like it’s plural—Julian’s never seen him court anyone else. Julian wasn’t going to give into that courting. But Garak’s too friendly too quickly and gives Julian’s waist a little squeeze, his teeth gracing down Julian’s lobe to twist along his jaw. Julian tilts his head to the side to accommodate and keeps typing. 

He’s intent, at first, on finishing, even with Garak there—and Julian finds himself, as always, unable to quite push Garak away. Garak makes no more note of the essay. He focuses instead on Julian’s neck, licking down it and twisting to nip at his adam’s apple—Julian’s breath catches as Garak’s teeth scrapes along his throat. He’s still in full uniform, but Garak works down the zipper of his jacket with impressive ease, and then the thick fabric’s being slowly peeled away, the shirt underneath tugged aside. Garak’s warm mouth spreads over his shoulder and sinks in, tongue laving hot over his skin.

Their quarters are too hot. Julian allows it—Cardassia’s a fire-pit, and Julian’s heritage spans warmer places than San Francisco. It’s only a problem at times like this, where the imprint of Garak’s firm body is enough of a temperature spike. As Garak leads a trail of shallow bites back to Julian’s cheek, Julian asks, “What are you doing?” He’s not proud of how hoarse his voice already is. 

“Repaying a human custom, my dear,” Garak offers, and his tone is playfully low, the words as dynamic as ever, each syllable spoken with different care. Julian’s too busy fighting fun for focus to ask what that means, and Garak goes right on: “You seemed to thoroughly enjoy biting my ridges and licking my ‘spoon’ last night...”

“I was drunk,” Julian snorts, though he wasn’t _that_ far gone, and he still wants to now. He has a foggy memory of laughing about the spoon-shaped groove in Garak’s forehead and insisting it was meant for his tongue. Then he wonders if Garak bought alcohol too strong on purpose, and if Julian revealed anything he shouldn’t have, though they have the same level of security clearance. And he’s just a medical student.

And if Garak’s plan is to seduce a future Federation doctor to his side, he should really let Julian finish his assignment and thrive in class, achieve as much and go as far as he can. 

Garak hums, opened mouthed, around Julian’s other shoulder. He doesn’t let go until Julian’s felt the blunt sting of teeth pressing hard enough to leave a mark. Then Garak drawls, “Shall I stop?”

He knows damn well what Julian’s answer will be. Julian hisses, “No,” anyway, and turns to catch the next kiss that comes at his cheek. He meets Garak’s lips instead—one of the few truly pliant parts of Garak’s body. The taste always has a certain exotic flare that Julian still can’t pin point. Garak once said that Julian tastes of Synthehol, but Garak says a lot of things. 

Garak says in a deep, rolling purr, “Do the essay later, Jules.”

“Tell me why you’re here, Elim.”

But Garak just grins, and Julian’s too far-gone now to care that he’s the only one who ever tips his hand. Garak sucks at Julian’s neck while he hesitates, and all he can think of is where else he’d like to put Garak’s mouth—what other human customs he’d like to exchange. They’ve tried the Cardassian way, as rigorous and over-stimulating as it is, and it’s fortunate they’re in the medical program for that alone. It’s only fair that Garak returns the favour. 

Garak gently tugs the PADD out of Julian’s hands, and Julian lets it be tossed to the nightstand. Garak makes the throw look careless, but it slides into place with perfect precision. Garak’s sucking a bruise into the side of Julian’s neck when Julian finally pushes away, just so he can turn around and do this _right._

He teases low on the way, “I suppose I could take a break to study anatomy.” Garak smiles through his kiss and drags Julian down to bed.


End file.
